Velor had only managed to make one torch, and it guttered, casting barely enough light to see anything, but it was better than nothing. Aralore didn't look back. She didn't count how few of her acolytes remained. She let the night enshroud that awful truth. When morning came, she'd be called to account for that. But for now, she concentrated on her mission and where she placed her feet on those slippery rocks. Everything else, she let go.
You Made Me Promise
Sarn wanted to lie there until he didn't hurt anymore, but he had responsibilities, and they wouldn’t let him rest for even a moment longer. His world had contracted to a pinpoint visible through a lens of relentless, hammering pain—not helpful, but not something he could do anything about. Just opening his eyes a crack, nearly blinded him with agony, so he shut them and stretched out his other senses.
His hearing was halved in one ear, but that was normal and nothing to worry about since it had been like that for years. There were also enough echoes to confuse a bat, so even his good ear couldn't tell him much beyond the obvious. But habit forced Sarn to sift through those echoes anyway for clues because his nose wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know—he was lying by a body of water.
That squared with his last coherent memory. There was some current to it—more than you would find at a lake or one of the underground pools, so it might be a subterranean river. But which one?
By the taste, it was likely the Anwyn river. Its waters were sweeter than the Palwyn. Given how clean it was, he must be upriver from the main inhabited areas, otherwise it would have smelled like a latrine.
With no magic to back up his senses, that was the most he could discern and not nearly enough to answer the one question hammering away at his heart. Where’s my son? Why don’t I hear him? Why doesn’t Ran call out to me? Unless Ran couldn’t—that fear slammed into Sarn and squeezed all the air out of his lungs. I must find my son. Nothing else mattered.
When Sarn opened his mouth, a groan escaped. His jaw throbbed from a collision with something—a rock probably given the hail of them that had followed him down. Before he could give moving a try, cold water rolled over his legs and halfway up his back, chilling Sarn. He shivered.
Sarn wiggled his toes to warm them and relief flooded him when they responded right away without any pain. I’m alive and probably not paralyzed. Please, let my son be all right.
Just to be certain, Sarn moved his legs—first his left one then the right and bumped something that latched onto his pants. It was the kind of thing Ran would do.
“Ran, are you there?”
Sarn listened hard but heard nothing. Maybe he can’t hear me. After all, quiet was his default setting. Sarn tried again, louder this time, but not nearly loud enough to be heard over the din of many heavy things splashing into the river. Water rolled all the way up to the nape of his neck this time before receding.
That tugging grew more insistent. Ran must be close by, but why wasn’t he talking? My son doesn’t do silent. Something must be wrong.
Without his magic to soften it, the ground scraped his hand when Sarn swept it in blind arcs searching for his son. But his fingers failed to touch any part of that sunny child.
“Ran, are you, all right? Speak to me, please.”
Sarn started to lever himself up to a sitting position, but he fell back onto his stomach when dizziness walloped him. The world spun as the pain crested. His stomach roiled from the sudden motion, and bile crawled up his throat, but Sarn swallowed it down.
Damn it. I must have a concussion. That would explain the pain splitting his head open and the dizziness and the nausea too. I must fight it. I must find Ran. Nothing mattered except holding his son in his arms again.
Panic swelled in his chest, constricting it. On instinct, Sarn reached for his magic, but there was just a hollow space where it had once burned brightly. Nor did he have any clue how to invoke the Question again. Sarn tried to open his other eye, but it was swollen and it, too, would only open a crack. Through those two slender windows, he could see nothing but shadowed lumps. They were likely debris.
Something heavy struck the ground nearby with a loud thump. Those tentacles must still be tearing the levels above apart. Another heavy thud confirmed that.
Without magic, all Sarn had were his five senses to depend on, and four of those senses weren’t telling him anything interesting. Without magic, those two words echoed in his mind as Sarn struggled to turn his head. This would be so much easier if he had access to one very specific part of his magic.
I wish I’d never let that damned Question take my magic. What the hell was I thinking? If this is normal, I don’t want it. The world sloshed around for a moment before stabilizing.
Slow down damn it. You have a concussion. Moving fast will just make things worse. But Sarn couldn't slow down or stop. Every moment he tarried might doom his son. He tried once more to rise and fell flat on his face.
Sarn lay on his stomach, and his head was so heavy it might as well have weighed fifty pounds because he could hardly move it. And that ratcheted the panic up another notch.
“Ran? Come to me. Show me you’re all right.”
His son didn’t appear, but the tugging on his pant leg had ceased. Ran might be lying somewhere broken and hurting. I must save him. But his arms refused to move.
One arm was pinned underneath Sarn now, so he clawed at the wet ground with his free hand and struggled to push himself up to free it. This time, a black curtain descended, ending his valiant attempt at a one-armed push up. Usually, he could manage at least one set of them before his arm felt like it was on fire.
“I can help you.”
Sarn opened his eyes. He hadn’t meant to close them, but he was so tired. His thoughts circled back to his missing son, and he tried to move until a white light flickered in his peripheral vision. A magic-shaped hole yawned inside him as he turned his head and scratched his cheek on a rock.
He met the gimlet stare of a statue. The head had broken off and now lay bodiless and staring. A white light danced in its crystal eyes for a moment, then that light stepped out of those blank eyes, becoming man-shaped as it moved.
“I can help you.”
“You can’t heal me. I don’t have that power.”
But Sarn wished he did. It would be damned useful right now.
“No, we can’t fix bodies, but we can fix other things.” It pointed up at the hole the Ægeldar had punched through the ceiling.
“Is Nolo still up there? Can you tell me where my son is?”
Did he see my son? Does he suspect? Sarn replayed the scene as he moved slowly then stopped. He put that worry away for later if there was a later. Only his son was important now. I’ll do whatever I must to save him and deal with the consequences later.
Part of Sarn hoped there was still a chance Nolo didn’t know. If he didn’t see Ran’s face, he’d have no reason to think Ran was anything other than one of the Foundlings I used to live with or an unlucky page. What was the youngest a child could become a page? Probably not four years old, though Sarn could worry about that after he found his son.
“If you take me back, I can tell you all that and more.” The tiny white-glowing man extended his hand to Sarn.
“If I take your hand, will you come back to me?”
“Yes.”
Sarn squinted at the glowing man, his suspicion rising. Nothing had ever been that simple. “What aren’t you telling me? There’s more to this, isn’t there?”
The glowing man didn’t answer. He receded into the statue’s eyes, taking all chance to recover what Sarn had lost with him. Or maybe not. Hadn’t J.C. told him exactly what to do: ‘Finish the trial.’
How do I do that without risking my son’s life? No answer came because he still had no friggin’ clue.
“I can’t right now.”
But when his head stopped hurting, and he was somewhere safe with Ran wrapped up in as many blankets as he could procure, then Sarn would fi
nally answer the Question. And damn anyone who got in his way. More chunks fell and split apart when they landed. That spurred Sarn into motion. He cautiously gathered himself to rise again.
“Ran, can you hear me? Call out if you can.”
Still no response. Footsteps approached. They were tentative at first then more purposeful. Maybe help has arrived.
“Sarn? Is that you?”
“In the bruised flesh.”
Hands probed for injuries while Sarn tried to place that voice. It was familiar—not one of the Foundlings, nor a Ranger—who then was this? And why did his sixth sense keep screaming that he was in danger? It must be the monster destroying the upper floors or more falling debris setting it off.
“What happened?”
“I fell, and I’m pretty sure I have a concussion.”
Sarn tried again to rise, and this time made it to a sit thanks to the bony hands his visitor thrust under his arms.
“Have you seen a little boy?” he asked as he scanned the debris through his swollen eyes. Ran was nowhere in sight, but the tyke was a champion hider and probably scared out of his little mind. Then why doesn’t he come to me? He never hides from me unless we’re playing a game, and we’re not right now.
“Ran, come out now. This isn’t a game.”
Still no answer, but a pebble rolled past Sarn’s knee then another one. He twisted around and almost collapsed in relief as a tiny hand waved from behind yet more rubble.
“Come here, Ran.”
“I can’t.”
“Why can’t you? Are you hurt?”
Standing was out of the question and so was walking, but Sarn managed to crawl closer. He had to stop halfway there and fight the urge to vomit while the world revolved around him in a blur of shadow and crystal light.
“It won’t let me.”
“What won’t let you,” Sarn asked when he could speak without losing his dinner.
“The promise.”
The word cut through Sarn, and he shivered. I must have misheard. I didn’t—I wouldn’t bind my son the way my masters bound me.
“What promise?”
“The one we always make. Don’t you remember?”
Now, Ran just sounded confused. At least he wasn’t scared anymore. That was an improvement.
“What are its terms?”
“You want to know what you made me promise?”
“Yes.”
Sarn cringed as those four words ‘you made me promise’ fell out of his son’s mouth. As much as he wanted to refute them, he couldn’t because Ran didn’t lie. There wasn’t a dishonest bone in his guileless little body. He’s like me in that regard. I can’t lie either, not even to myself.
“Oh, you made me promise to hide from bad people, and I think that includes the black squiggly things too because the promise won’t let me get anywhere near them.”
Sarn sat there in stunned silence. He remembered extracting that innocent promise when Ran started toddling up to strangers and talking to them. Over the years, it had become a reflex action every time they were out in public to remind his son of that promise. It had seemed so innocent at the time. I didn’t know I was creating an unbreakable bond.
“Papa, are you okay?”
Instead of answering, Sarn dropped his aching head into his hands. I did what I despise most about my masters to my own son. What kind of monster am I?
The Battle of the Tentacles
“Are you okay?”
Iraine hauled Nulthir up until he stood once again on his own two feet. Thankfully, the fit had passed. He could breathe again and speak too.
“Are you? You got splattered pretty good.”
Nulthir raked her with an anxious gaze. Iraine certainly looked okay, but was she? That goo worked fast to stun its prey.
“That’s why I wear treated armor. It rolled right off me, but I’ll smell like rotting fish until I can rinse off. Where’s an underground river when you need one? Not here.” Iraine ran a hand over her braids. They were confined to a knot at the base of her neck. “But enough about me and my body odor. How are you? Still breathing I see.”
“Yeah, though for a moment there, I wasn’t. I’m glad that’s over. That stuff is truly vile. Thankfully, my gauntlets cover most of my hands. I don’t want to think about how much worse that could have been if they didn’t.”
“So, you’re not feeling any more numbness?”
“Just in my fingers, but that numbness isn't spreading anymore. In fact, it's slowly fading, but I can't fight until its gone.”
Nulthir shook his hands and wiggled his fingers to encourage some feeling to return, so he could use his hands again.
“I'm glad you didn't hold onto it for more than a moment. That’s probably the only reason the effects are fading. Next time, let someone else touch the monster, okay?”
Nulthir rolled his eyes, and she clapped him on the back.
“Stay here until you can wield a weapon.”
He gave her a dark look, but Iraine ignored it. She vaulted over the debris screening them from view back into the fray. Nulthir almost shouted a warning to be careful, but he shut his mouth instead. Iraine was a better warrior than he’d ever be.
She had a sixth sense for where those tentacles would strike next, and her sais were always there to parry or slice them. Unlike Draya, who went a little mad in battle, Iraine fought for every inch in that focused way of someone doing what she loved most in the world—pitting her skills against an agile opponent.
If anyone could survive this, it was Iraine. But the warning he’d suppressed echoed in his heart where fear had taken root and begun to flower. How could anyone survive against such a tireless foe? What are we even fighting for? The reason had gotten lost somewhere in the chase.
“How many monsters are there down here?” Agalthar asked between strokes.
But no one answered because this was Shayari and ‘why’ questions had no sane answers here. That didn’t stop its citizens from asking that one-word question, though.
Since the numbness was almost gone now, Nulthir reached for his sword and didn’t find it. I must have lost it somewhere. Instead of a hilt, his hand closed around his retractable nightstick. Just great, not the type of weapon he wanted to take into a monster-fight, but his had a few tricks thanks to the runes carved into its cylindrical length.
All I need is a little magic to get them going. But there was none in the surrounding stones, and he had none save a tiny flame burning inside him. It was a remnant of the Breath of Life exhaled by the Creator Spirit when he’d created mankind so very long ago. Everyone who’d ever lived carried a part of that eternal flame in their hearts. But only a mage could use the power that animated him for one final magic-infused strike.
Things are bad, but not so dire as to require that, not yet anyway. We still have options. To conserve energy, Nulthir picked his way over the rubble screening him. Before he could rejoin a fight, he could only dimly see, Thing One called to him.
“The Shining One needs you, friend Nulthir.”
There was still no sign of either the Shining One or Thing One. Just an expanding hole full of a certain monster harassing his people.
“Where are you?”
“Tell this ‘Shining One’ to grab a sword and join us.”
“How large is this thing? Look at the size of those suckers. They’re as big as dinner plates.” Iraine asked as she slashed one open, sending a clear liquid flying. It splashed Yarvel in the face, and he started choking.
“Oh, God, Yarvel!”
His eyes bulged, and his lips turned blue as Yarvel struggled to breathe. Before Iraine could reach him, a sucker-covered arm looped around his ankles and yanked Yarvel through a hole in the wall into darkness. The sight galvanized the remaining Guards.
“Die, monster.”
Iraine squared her shoulders and leaped onto a tentacle. She dug her sais into its tough hide and kept stabbing until it flopped down dead or stunned on the ground. She jo
gged past Agalthar and shoved him out of the way of a strike he hadn’t seen coming.
Nulthir thought about asking Iraine for one of her sais. Surely, she didn't need two, but he got no further than that as more tentacles broke through. Iraine raced to meet them, but she was tiring, and their enemy was multiplying faster than his people could harm them.
“It’s like a hydra. You hurt one and three take its place,” Gare said in awe.
“Where’s the rest of its body?” Yazi shouted. “Is it through there?” He pointed at the expanding hole in the wall then gestured to the tunnel behind them. “Or back there? Are there two of these things or only one?”
Since they were facing different types of tentacles at every turn, there were probably several monsters on their tail. That didn't bode well for them.
“There’s probably more than one.”
And Nulthir had no rune he could cast to confirm that. They were fighting blind.
“Can Thing One tell us?”
“I’ll ask.”
Nulthir dodged the tentacle aiming for his chest and crashed into Huwain before he could send that message. He’d lost track of his little friend in the fray, but Thing One could take care of himself. Nulthir went down and took Huwain with him. He rolled aside as another section of the wall fell toward them.
Light glimmered beyond that hole. Are you a way out or a trap meant to kill us all?
Nulthir listened hard to the layers of sound echoing back to him from that dim space. They indicated a large cavern or tunnel, and under that, he heard the faint sound of rushing water. Mount Eredren lay about one mile from the largest navigable river in Shayari, and the Nirthal had several tributaries snaking under the mountain. If we can get to that river, we can follow it out of here and get some reinforcements.
Thing One dodged several elongated arms as he flew through the hole Nulthir had just stared at. The hole was large, but dozens of sucker-covered appendages only blocked a third of it, and they were not as wide nor as long as the ones they’d run from earlier.
Curse Breaker: Sundered Page 24
